Anatomy
by Tethys' Dream
Summary: Relationships are tricky. New ones are even trickier. Especially when they involve two people who don't even know quite how or even if there actually is a relationship. Spock and Uhura explore the anatomy of their relationship.
1. Green Thing

_Disclaimer: Not really my characters. Not even really my story line. I apologize if I confuse any readers--this and the next three chapters were originally published as individual stories. Since they're starting to fit together rather nicely, I decided to put them all into one big story. (So in other words, if you've read the first three, you can skip right to the fourth chapter, which is new.)_

* * *

**Green Thing**

Damn.

She had never wanted to be anything other than what she was. Driven some people said. Cocky, said others. Egocentric. Brain, bitch, tease...she'd been called all of these and more. Names didn't bother her, because she didn't bother to define herself any of these ways. She had just always known what she wanted to do and where she was meant to go and had let nothing stand in her way.

Damn.

Attraction? If any would have asked (which, of course, they did not), she'd have said admiration. For his brilliance certainly. Commander Spock had become a full professor at an impossibly young age. His classes were complex, and insightful, and for someone like Uhura, who appreciated intellectual analysis for its own sake, fascinating. Each week he made his students tease apart what they thought they knew, and then brought them back to some common denominator. Nothing he said was ever wasted. Everything connected to some greater purpose, even if they as students could not yet see it. His mind was vast, but carefully cataloged. She relished the challenge his classes posed because there was not much that challenged her. He was, of course, one of the most despised professors in Starfleet.

She envied his cool equanimity. It was something she sought to cultivate in herself, but found difficult to master. He could not have failed to realize that students mocked him behind his back, and sometimes to his face, though if such insubordination bothered him, it did not show. She suspected that it did not. Even his peers treated him politely, respectfully, but there was a certain careful distance between them. She observed and tried to learn.

But she didn't have the magic ability to create such well delineated boundaries. She camouflaged her sentiments with sarcasm and a smile, maintaining distance without seeming to. That she could drink men three times her size under the table was a useful skill. She was good at jokes and banter, and could always be counted on for a laugh or a debate. She knew how to make people like her. But more often than not, she was the first to slip out because she took more pleasure in an extra hour or two of reading than the company. Study was a far more valuable use of her time.

She had used him. He had gotten her this position on _Enterprise_. She'd felt guilty about that. When she had discovered she'd been assigned to _Farragut_, disappointment had been acrid and stale in her throat. Second class officer on a second class ship. She was not pleased. Uhura had approached Commander Spock because she'd spent a great deal of time in the past three years scrutinizing every member of the Academy to assess their individual strengths…or lack thereof. Of all of the members of Starfleet, only Spock was dispassionate enough to set protocol aside if common sense dictated a better course of action. She had merely _suggested _to the commander that her skills would be more constructively utilized elsewhere. Specifically, she had argued, on _Enterprise_, the newest and most sophisticated ship in the fleet.

She had told herself that because her initial posting had been remanded by Commander Spock it was not favoritism. Merely that he had recognized it to be the most reasonable distribution of talent, given the circumstances. Had this opportunity been granted by anyone but Spock, she would have declined lest it appeared anything else.

Damn.

What had happened, what had happened. Maybe it was from a misplaced sense of solidarity. They were both, in their own ways, outsiders—and comfortable being so. She was certain that he felt his sense of duty no less keenly than she did herself. They both desired to be the best not because they had delusions of power, but because anything less would be only half an effort and a waste of time. All these things, for her, had added up to attraction. Or, as she had been telling herself, infatuation. Transference.

She was profoundly embarrassed by her forwardness. Or was it a weakness, this… reckless abandonment of her principles? Never never never had she behaved like this. But never had she felt the need to reach another person so strongly.

This mission had gone so horribly wrong in such an amazingly short time. She could not imagine. The loss of the captain. The loss of the fleet. The loss of a planet. The loss of a parent. The loss of home. His reaction to that had been…nothing particularly extraordinary. Indeed, probably only she had noted the very slight change in inflection. The way his words came from stiffened jaws. What she felt was different.

When Kirk had burst in like that. God knows how he'd found his way back. Initially she had been furious. Any grudging respect she'd been willing to grant him--for finagling a post on _Enterprise_, or from correctly interpreting an attack from an alien species that had been so grossly misread by the highest ranking members of Starfleet, or even from remembering her translation of an intercepted communication--evaporated within seconds of his reappearance. Insensitive idiot. Great, blundering, arrogant fool.

Her anger turned to mortification on the acting Spock's behalf as the derision began. Prodding him. Provoking him. Bizarre behavior, even for Kirk. It had happened so quickly, but also with excruciating slowness. She had seen the change come over Spock; something primal rising from an unimagined depth. And something about his eyes. Hollow, resigned. She saw it coming, and an aching horror lodged itself in her chest. Kirk couldn't see it. At least she didn't think he could or he would have stopped. Spock snapped like a piece of steel under immense tension. This reaction would have been wholly reasonable for any other person. But Spock wasn't another person which was why it scared her so much.

He had surrendered his post with a kind of cold solemnity. It was inane. In any other circumstance Spock's behavior would have been, if not precisely rational at least excusable, and Kirk's insolence would not have been tolerated. But Kirk was captain and Spock was not. It was all wrong. She wanted to protest, to scream to argue. But her tongue stuck to the top of her mouth. She had used Spock to get herself where she was. Kirk had used Spock against himself to get where he was. Were they all such vultures?

Watching it unfold. Inexplicably she had recognized the echo of those things in her own life that she had sought to bury without definition. An awareness of being alone. A barely remembered of loss of something large and indefinable. A sense of change in the order of things that had once been known. Sudden and unfathomable anxiety for the future. These things were part of her, and now, she knew, they were part of him too.

Xenolinguistics. Interspecies communication. How to communicate this sudden… recognition in a way that was useful?

Leaving her post and following him off the bridge. Jamming the lift to afford some measure of privacy. Were these actions useful? He had turned at the unexpected interruption. He looked smaller, shrunken inward. More human, somehow, though of course that was not a fair comparison. Anthropomorphism was inexcusable. Words escaped her. All she could do was murmur, "I'm sorry. I am so sorry." over and over. But these words were small. They were not enough. And then, unexpectedly she had reached for him, drawing him close, drawing her face to his. Trying to tell him, to show him…

How had this been useful?

She was not really surprised when he did not respond. How could she expect otherwise? Had she really wanted him to? She started to pull away then, humiliated, when at the last moment, she felt him lean into her. Comfort? Curiosity? Desire? Something else? It made her catch her breath. His arms tightened around her and, for an instant, he buried his face in her shoulder. She nearly stumbled as her center of balance shifted. The sensation of something green and new announced its presence in her belly.

The moment was over. She took a step back, miserable, uncomfortable, but it was too late. The air between them had changed. The light was more vivid. She couldn't tell if he was surprised. He merely regarded her, expression inscrutable. She was a superb linguist, but she was not as good at reading the space between words. "What do you need?" she had asked. "Tell me what you need." She surprised herself in that moment by wanting to know more fiercely than anything else she had ever desired.

It mattered. Why? Why did it matter so much, she wondered. Was it selfish? Was she afraid the deliberate, brilliant professor she'd admired so much would be destroyed? Was it her place, her responsibility to keep him from falling? Was it hubris that made her think she could?

His eyes were fixed on her face, and he was silent. She stood, waiting. "I need," he said slowly, as if from a great distance, "for everyone...to keep performing admirably."

It was the right answer. It was what she wanted to hear and what she would do. Dimly she wondered if he said it to reassure himself or to give her something to focus on.

Very gently, she reached up and touched his cheek and nodded. She was here because of him. She owed him that much. He did not pull away. The elevator doors opened and they parted.

When things settled down they

Damn.

There was no "they." Whatever "this" was, it was not appropriate. Professor and cadet. Commander and lieutenant. Superior and subordinate. Inappropriate on so many levels. She would ask for a transfer when this mission was over.

She turned her focus back to the console in front of her, realizing that she'd been functioning on autopilot, cursing her inattentiveness. She scanned down the screen, checking to make sure she had missed nothing, meticulous even during distraction. She was uncomfortably aware that she would have to continue to function—admirably--with this "THIS" between them, regardless of whatever "this" was or was not. Damn. She was talking to herself in circles. STOP.

___Kobayashi Maru. _What was it he had said about the necessity of fear? Was fear the strange green thing in the pit of her stomach that would not go away? Could she take the lesson he'd tried to teach Kirk and use it for herself? She looked up at the captain's chair.

She'd damn well have to.


	2. Lapse

_Disclaimers: I do not own these characters or this plot. I am not good enough to make this stuff up. This is a companion piece to_ Green Thing_, but is entirely Spock's POV. You don't have to read that one in order to read this one. R&R appreciated. _

**Lapse**

He has regained his composure rapidly. This pleases him. He is motherless and planetless and has just become the failed captain of this superb vessel. The fact that he is able to function despite these losses means he is a credit to his race, a conviction in which he falters more often than he cares to acknowledge.

But he suspects that it is more than his birthright that supports him. He cannot fathom how she had the awareness to know what to do. Indeed, he had not known in that moment what was needed, had not been able to formulate a rational plan of action. She had wrapped her arms around him and gathered the pieces together before he collapsed under the weight of events. That embrace had somehow bound his fractured self into a new whole. If she had not been there…what sort of Vulcan would he be now? The thought is disquieting. He discards it.

An instinctive response on her part? Perhaps, but he thinks not. He is not sentimental about this. She has been a student of his for three years. He has been her mentor for two. He knows she does little by instinct. She excels in the ability to make even small events seem spontaneous. Most humans, he knows, do not do things this way. But he has learned to recognize that certain set of the shoulders, when the line of her back is straight and tall and when she wears a smile solely to disarm. She may even appear disengaged. These are the moments when she is watching and evaluating. Considering all paths before choosing the one that leads her where she wants to go. It is an unusual trait in a human. It sets her apart. He finds himself wondering if she is cognizant of these qualities or if that is just how she is.

It is time to go back. This mission, whatever it will become, is just commencing. He is no longer the captain, but his responsibilities continue, albeit in altered form.

He hears the rustle that accompanies his entrance. Whispers confirm or disabuse conjectures. It amazes him how fast information travels, even when there is no information. Kirk turns to greet him. He nods to acknowledge the captain. He does not explain his actions nor is an explanation requested. For that, he is relieved. It means that they will proceed smoothly from this point, without hindrance.

Back on the bridge, he knows that she has not looked at him. Though he does not look at her either, he is acutely aware of her presence and her strength. The very fact that she did not turn when he arrived—even her fingers on her console had never even wavered—is remarkable. He knew this response would have been physically and emotionally impossible for a majority of humans. Were he not so aware of her intellectual prowess, he would have been surprised. Now he sees the practical application of this capacity in her personal control. The sense of certainty she has in herself. He realizes, with a sudden flash of clarity, that self-certainty is something he lacks.

Biologically at least, he has kinship with them. He has never really decided if this has made his chosen course easier or more difficult. Physically they are similar. Linguistically there are virtually no barriers. But for all the inroads he has made with this species, culturally he has remained isolated.

Faces, for example, remain difficult for him to interpret. His own world was one in which facial expressions were perceived as distraction rather than an enhancement to understanding. He remembers being perplexed by ways his mother's face would change. A smile when no one was there to see it. Brows drawn together when she was frustrated. Tears when she was unhappy and, oxymoronically, when she was very happy. It was difficult to adjust to the hyperanimated features of humans when he first joined the academy. Eventually he realized that the ability to read faces was probably one that he would never master. As often as not his assumptions proved incorrect, so he ceased trying. He wonders now if that was an oversight on his part. Words, on the other hand, are precise.

But he is not the same as the people he identifies as his own either. To his chosen race, he is an anomaly. The fact that he was intellectually superior to his peers was of less import to them than the fact that his heritage is muddied. It is his own definition that is not precise.

He glances at her. She is like the light at the end of darkness. Or at the beginning of darkness. Time holds that answer, though he has his own conjectures. He is not so certain about having the time. He does not know how to say this to her. He does not even know if he should. No, that is disingenuous. Starfleet fraternization policy is unequivocal. There is no protocol to follow. And yet, she has not asked anything of him, which is curious. Humans are not known for their altruism.

He wonders if she comprehends how he has been affected by her actions. Her face is expressionless. Her shoulders, though, parallel the floor exactly. Suddenly he is aware that he wants to tell her…that it is important for her to know. That is imperative for him to discuss these events with her. It is beyond an idea. It is an urge; it is something he needs to do. He is also intensely aware that he cares what she thinks. He needs her interpretation to help clarify and refine his own. It is unfamiliar territory.

He becomes conscious of physical pain. There is a dull pounding in his head. His knuckles are bruised. One had is cut. From connecting with Kirk's teeth, he supposes. He should seek medical help for this, but knows that he will not. He will bear the scars of this conflict as a physical reminder of his inability to channel his emotions effectively. And a reminder that not all lessons are planned. For this lapse bears with it lessons of its own.


	3. Lessons of the Father

_Disclaimers: Once again, not my characters, not my plot. (Although I'm sort of wishing that they were.)_

He is aware that she has been avoiding him. She is always accompanied by someone now in the corridors. In the mess hall. On the deck. Or she is concentrating on what she is doing. Purposeful. She never falters, but somehow her fluidity has been interrupted. It is something to note; how only the absence of an element so intrinsic causes awareness of it to develop. Curious. More curious still that he should be noticing these details when so much else is happening. They are in the midst of events that will shape the course of worlds. The way she functions is not important. And yet, it is important.

Things have not changed. They are both here; they are separate. The way it was. But things are no longer the same. This is no longer normalcy. It goes beyond semantics.

….

The chance happens in a corridor. She: head bent, lost in thought. He: instantly aware of her presence just by the sound of her steps. He holds out a hand to stay her progress, not certain why he has not called out instead. She starts, but quickly smoothes her features and regains composure. Perhaps his actions are not entirely unexpected. Beneath his touch she is stiff and unyielding. He is surprised how small she is. He withdraws his hand immediately, not wanting to risk offence, not knowing how to avoid it.

She folds her arms across her chest as she turns to acknowledge him. "Sir?" At once a question and a statement. Her voice is clear and bright, but also flat, without affect. Her lips are firm. She meets his eyes without equivocation. Yet he sees that her skin stretches finely across her face. She lets her arms fall to her side and begins formally. Her response is entirely appropriate. She is a subordinate addressing a superior. "I apologize," she says. I have been avoiding necessary confrontation. I can only hope that I have not compromised our ship and our mission …"

"Lieutenant, you have misconstrued…"

She interrupts him. He can tell that she has planned what to say by the careful modulation of her voice. Her diction is precise. It means that she has thought about speaking to him. He feels somehow reassured by this, but also vaguely uncomfortable. Until now, he has thought about her only within his own context. It makes him realize that he exists also within a context of her own. It is a new sensibility. One for which he is unprepared.

"I am fully aware that my actions were not appropriate. What I meant to…" She looks away from him, and down at her hands which twist idly. She inhales deeply and lets it out slowly. Her voice, when she speaks again, is strong. "I am aware that you are not human and that your customs are very different than my own. I failed to respect that and violated your mores." She looks up at him, almost experimentally. "It is inexcusable both considering my position and expertise as well as our professional relationship. I knew that." She looks suddenly unbearably young. "I know that." She is speaking to him, but he is aware that she is also talking to herself.

He is conscious of the sting in her words. He feels it now even more acutely than when he had been granted acceptance into the Vulcan academy despite his "disadvantage." Is this how she sees him?

She straightens. Formality returns. "I will request an official transfer from this ship upon our return."

"You are stationed on board _Enterprise_, Lieutenant." he says, as if this is the answer to everything.

Her glance waivers. This time the breath she takes shudders through her. "I'm not supposed to be here. You are as aware of that as I. My request for reassignment was not ethical. It was based on what I desired, and not what was needed." She pauses, raising her eyes once again to his. "I approached you requesting a change in post because I knew you would recognize that my talents were better suited to another ship. I knew that reassignment by you would supersede senior command's recommended appointment."

She peers at him intently, as if to make sure that he is listening.

"I have violated not only Starfleet's code of ethics, but my own. It was…I was…"

"Lieutenant Uhura," he says, "you were the best choice for this mission. You successfully guided us through…"

He does not tell her is that he she was always the choice for this mission, this ship. Only recently has he realized that himself. That on some level he had counted on her fearlessness and her desire to attain the placement she preferred to get her position. To rely on her initiative had effectively relieved him of any culpability for her placement. She had not failed him, requesting reassignment immediately. At the time this… dissimulation…had seemed entirely appropriate. Indeed, he had considered it logical based on his knowledge of her aspirations and her ability to attain the goals she most desired. Now he begins to see that these expectations were one-sided.

"With respect, sir, I may have been the best choice for the _U.S.S Farragut _as well." A shadow crosses her face. Her voice changes too, no longer so carefully controlled. Her sadness is palpable, even to him. He has not considered in any way other than in the broadest sense the way his decisions might affect the others on this vessel. Is he so selfish that he feels no compassion for the comrades he has lost? Is he so buried in his own culture that it does not occur to him that the other participants in this battle are unaffected? What else has been misinterpreted?

"I will not implicate you," she continues. Her voice gains force as she recovers her poise. "I will take full responsibility for my actions and the consequences thereof." She is formidable, efficient.

He is taken aback. He had not imagined she would question her final assignment and by implication, his actions. He should have; it was negligent on his part. This needs to be rectified.

"I am not the captain," he says. "You are no longer under my direct command."

Her eyes narrow. He perceives her wariness. Or perhaps it is perplexity. He is certain that she does not understand why he fails to address her concerns. Her lips part. She is not finished. Tenacity is also one of her inherent traits. For her, the discussion has not reached a satisfactory conclusion. He is not usually the one to steer others onto a new topic. Rather, as instructor—and in his brief stint as captain--it is his role to steer it back. This is new territory.

"I have every confidence that you will graduate with honors at the completion of this mission. It may well be that the few remaining requirements needed to complete your formal education will be waived based on exemplary performance in the execution and success of this mission. This Starfleet class has utilized skills that could not be learned and applied in the classroom. I will recommend this course to my superiors."

"Success." She makes a noise that is somewhere between a laugh and a sob. "I'm not certain the records will bear that out."

"Lieutenant, your talents may well have saved this ship and this crew from certain annihilation."

"No," she says sharply. "Not yet. And not mine. It was Kirk who first recognized…"

"It was you who intercepted and correctly interpreted enemy correspondence." He watches her, to see if she comprehends the implication. "Because of you, my race may survive. It is true that many have died, both from my world and yours, but your superior performance has meant the survival of many more who would have died. It would not be reasonable to draw charges against you."

"If you imply, sir, that…"

"Nor would it be reasonable for you to vacate your post merely because you perceive a violation of code."

Her gaze is steady. "With all due respect," she says slowly, "it is more than a perception. It was a willful…"

He interrupts. "It is important for you to know your value. You are not my subordinate. You are no longer my student. It is important for you to understand that I recognize these distinctions." He is not used to speaking this way. The words are awkward. But they are also necessary. "We are, Lieutenant Uhura, peers."

She shakes her head slowly from side to side, but her eyes do not leave his. "Why are you telling me these things?" Her voice is almost a whisper.

"It is appropriate for you to address me as Spock."

Her brows knit. A line appears between them. For a moment, there is silence. "Nyota," she responds hesitantly.

"Nyota," he says, feeling the shape of her name. She takes a nearly imperceptible step back. Her eyes widen ever so slightly. He wonders if she is afraid of him. He wonders if his wording is correct, but he forges ahead. "I am asking you…I am asking you to take these things into consideration." It is his turn to look away, ashamed and yet not in the way he is feeling. His emotions are not controlling him, they are guiding him. For the first time, he thinks, he is beginning to understand his father.

When he looks up, she is gone.


	4. Here

Here

....

Through the exhaustion, there were flashes again of something else. It was more than adrenaline. It was as if the glow in her core was diffusing throughout her body. It manifested in small things at odd unpredictable moments. A prickling sensation in the pads of her fingers as they traced her keypads. An unexpected delight in the clear purity of the light that arced across the view screen on the other end of the bridge. The sudden awareness of an elusive beauty in the background scratches and blips of her listening device, sounds which had always before annoyed her as distractions. Here, in the midst of chaos, a rhythm was forming. She could feel the ship singing through the soles of her feet. She was proud of what they were accomplishing—this crew that had not been a crew just weeks earlier. She was profoundly happy in a way that she had never been before. She wondered if they all felt like this.

Then she'd catch herself and bite the inside of her lip in frustration and drag herself back into the present. She dismissed these impressions as sentimental. And yet—

No. She wouldn't allow herself to think like this or her actions would become even more unpredictable, and the thought of that was unbearable. Already. Already there were places in her mind where she was uncomfortable gong. She didn't need more dark places or she'd risk becoming a stranger to herself. So she did what she always did and tried to look at things objectively. After all, the same rules still applied even though she was applying them to herself. The rules had existed before she had been unexpectedly promoted to lieutenant and they continued to exist, unchanged, after—

After she acknowledged her responsibility. After she acknowledged that she wanted to nurture the growing ball of light in her stomach. After she acknowledged that she was happy because

Mentally she kicked herself, forcing herself to focus. It was one thing to be distracted. It was another to be distracted in the midst of a crisis.

_The incident. _Thinking about it brought with it the same curious fusion of dread and joy that it had every time her mind circled back to it. The memory was like a pearl. Her mind had created a pearl from this memory for the same reason oyster does. As a way of protecting itself from some kind of irritant. For self-defense. So that she could think about it indirectly, without doubt and without pain. She was aware of this, and this too bothered her. For like a pearl, the memory was lustrous, beautiful and infinitely precious. But like a pearl, at its heart something less pleasant remained entombed.

Her uncertainty. Her actions. Her regret. Her fear.

Still. She was sure she had not imagined it. The shift. When everything had shifted and he had reached for _her_ and he had looked at _her_ and

She was trying to remain pragmatic. It had probably taken less than three minutes. Three minutes in which she had behaved in a way that she could never have imagined. It had been neither the time, nor the place. He had just been through a trauma that was unthinkable. Vulcan or not, it was bound on some level to affect his judgment. How could it not? What he had needed most in that moment was comfort; it was comfort that she had offered. The fact that he had not declined was hardly surprising. It could hardly be interpreted as anything more.

She was taken aback with the force of how much she wanted it to mean something more.

....

She had seen his father, Sarek. Seen him when he had beamed on board without his wife. Watched him as they realized the planet had been destroyed. Observed him as he stood observing his own son react to taunts with such a white-hot uncontrolled fury that he had been forced to resign the coveted post of captain. And through it all—horror piled on horror—he had maintained the same enigmatic, impassive, if not downright serene expression. His reactions had left her somewhat shaken. Either Sarek maintained a self-control that was so powerful there was no outward evidence of his emotions, or, as most believed, Vulcans truly did not have any emotions at all. She did not see grief. She did not see anger. She did not see disappointment. These emotions would have been appropriate, and not out of place…for a human. To a Vulcan…were they really anathema? She wanted to believe that were not. But if they were, what of the other emotions?

Happiness. Empathy. Joy. Pleasure. Love?

Anthropomorphism again. That was what made her so uncertain. Where did that leave her?

Precisely.

Nowhere.

....

The things that made her happy. These things were based on violations not only of her personal principles, but of Starfleet code. She had cheated. Still, she loved this post. Here, on board _Enterprise_, as a lieutenant of Starfleet, she was Uhura, nothing else. No gender, no age, just skill and ability and the drive to bring this mission to completion—and she knew that she could. Yet however much she felt that she belonged here, she knew that she did not. However much she wanted to make this her place, she knew that she could not.

Because she'd gained this appointment fraudulently. She had failed to follow procedural rules that governed that appointment. For that matter, she'd inappropriately influenced a higher ranking officer. Not to mention that she'd initiated improper contact with that officer. It was grounds for disciplinary action if not court martial. She'd hope for the former when she made her formal request for a transfer. These were the answers to the questions she didn't know she was asking.

....

She had to remind herself to do her job so many times she'd lost count, even though she remained confident that even under these conditions she was performing well. She needed to perform well to avoid thinking. Though she found his presence on the bridge reassuring, at the same the compulsory proximity was profoundly uncomfortable. This new heightened awareness of his movements was distracting. She told herself she wasn't avoiding him; that their responsibilities kept them separate. For this, she was intensely grateful. She had no desire to initiate a conversation. It would come in time anyway because it had to. It was comforting, in a way, that she could exist in his presence and do what needed to be done. Why had she ever doubted her ability to do this?

....

The desire for sleep had almost faded, pushed into the background by the current demands of their duties. Breaks were short, but enforced. It was these moments, when she was not working, that she was coming to dread. It meant she was alone with herself. And the truth was that she couldn't stop thinking. It was the curse of being a problem solver—she needed a problem to solve. In this case, it just happened to be herself. She'd found herself pacing away her breaks when she couldn't sleep, trying to numb herself in the endless sameness of the ships internal corridors.

She thought she'd been paying attention, but jumped when she felt the touch on her arm. Maybe she really was losing it. She hadn't even noticed anyone else in the hall. Shaking the weariness out of her head she looked up to see who needed her. And felt a jolt when she saw Commander Spock peering down at her down at her with a strange look she couldn't quite interpret.

Anxiety shot through her as she realized who it was. Anxiety tinged with something else. But he pulled away before she could react, disturbed, maybe at her nearness. Or maybe he was shrinking from the contact, appalled by her previous actions—seeking to avoid anything that might induce more inappropriate behavior on her part.

She wondered how he was going to frame the necessary discussion, how the reprimand would come. She had assumed he would postpone it, at least until this all was over. But whatever happened, she knew that it was important that she maintain her poise, so she could be in control of the situation. She would not let it control her. She thought she understood him well enough to know that he would perceive this as a proper response. She had caused the problem. It was her duty to follow through with whatever her decisions brought her.

But at the last minute she nearly faltered, looking into his closed open face and meeting his eyes. She couldn't avoid it though. This meeting was…necessary. Admitting one's mistakes and accepting the consequences—these things were the part of the less pleasant responsibilities of even non-commissioned officers. She would face them head on them for his sake. For hers.

"Sir," she greeted him, satisfied with the firmness of her voice and her ability to strike the right tone of formality. The formality made her more confident. She straightened, dropping her hands to her sides as she addressed him, a subtle reminder of the rank between them. She hoped that in this small gesture, he would recognize that she had not forgotten this, despite knowing full well that her earlier actions conveyed otherwise. "I apologize. I have been avoiding necessary confrontation. I can only hope that I have not compromised our ship and our mission …" She fancied that he looked surprised, though his countenance remained as unchanged as ever.

"Lieutenant, you have misconstrued…" he began.

She wasn't ready for his lecture yet. She needed speak her piece or she feared that she wouldn't have the courage to do it again. She had come to the realization that it was important to offer at least some explanation of her actions, even if it meant something only to her. "I am fully aware that my actions were not appropriate. What I meant to…"

But she couldn't look at him and say this. It meant that everything she knew…everything that she'd been taught had been to no purpose. She didn't want to somehow make her failure as a communications officer seem like his failure as a teacher. So instead she concentrated on her hands, struggling finish what now felt more like a confession. She wanted him to know that she was exactly aware of where her failure lay. She wanted him to know that he was in no way responsible for her actions. What she had been had been done of her own choosing. "I am aware that you are not human and that your customs are very different than my own. I failed to respect that and violated your mores. It is inexcusable both considering my position and expertise as well as our professional relationship. I knew that…I know that."

Saying out loud made her connect with her shame in a way that she hadn't when she'd been rehearsing this discussion alone in her mind.

No matter. She squared her shoulders and determined to say what would be the hardest of all…apprehensive about his response. "I will request a formal transfer from this ship upon our return" she told him, making her words solid and forceful, to ensure that they conveyed their true meaning.

She could not have predicted his reply. "You are stationed on board the _Enterprise_, Lieutenant." It sounded so definite when he spoke. He always sounded so sure of himself. Even in this situation, which she found so infinitely awkward, he sounded confident in his words. It was remarkable.

So. He wanted her to clarify her request. Acknowledge her involvement and her understanding. She took a slow deep breath, not only to calm herself, but to make her thoughts concrete. This was more difficult than she had expected. She was more ashamed of this than anything. "I'm not supposed to be here," she told him. "You as aware of that as I am. My request for reassignment was not ethical. It was based on what I desired, and not what was needed." She paused, trying to anticipate his response so that she should be prepared for whatever would come next. "I approached you requesting a change in post because I knew you would recognize that my talents were better suited to another ship. I knew that reassignment by you would supersede senior command's recommended appointment."

He said nothing. She could hear the blood pulsing through her ears. So she rambled on, determined now, by his silence, to pass at least this test.

"I have violated not only Stafleet's code of ethics, but my own. It was…I was…" Stammering notwithstanding, it was a reasonable argument, and one that she was confident would resonate with him.

His response, when it came, seemed curiously out of context. As though they were having two separate conversations.

"Lieutenant Uhura" he told her, "you were the best choice for this mission. You successfully guided us through…"

She was puzzled, not quite certain why he was trying to justify her actions. She felt vaguely irritated that he didn't seem to recognize the incongruity of his words. And she realized that what she desired was perhaps merely the acknowledgement of the burden of her actions.

"With respect, sir, I may have been the best choice for the _U.S.S. Farragut _as well." She could feel tears, hot and stinging at the back of her throat and swallowed, determined not to let him see her cry. She reminded herself that she was merely stating facts, not assigning them a value. Yet she could not help thinking about the officer she had displaced. Her misguided drive to fulfill her own aspirations had condemned someone else to death. She would never be able to repay that debt.

"I will not implicate you," she continued, drawing strength from her own admission. He needed to know this as well as the possible ramifications of what she planned to do upon their return. She desperately wanted him to know that she would protect him from her own mistakes. That she would not sacrifice his career for hers. "I will take full responsibility for my actions and whatever repercussions follow."

"I am not the captain," he responded. "You are no longer under my direct command."

Dammit. She had always understood that interspecies communication could be harrowing, but had underestimated the extent of their differences in this case. They were familiar with each other. They worked together. They spoke a common language. It should have been simple. Yet he seemed to have taken their entire dialogue completely out of context. He had done this sometimes in his classes. Why did it seem so much less relevant in practical application? She was at a loss for how to proceed.

But he did not pause, adding, "I have every confidence that you will graduate with honors at the completion of this mission. It may well be that the requirements of the academy will be waived based on your accomplishments and success of this mission. I will recommend that course of action to my superiors."

"Success," she said in disbelief. It wasn't up to her usual eloquence, but then what other response would have been reasonable? By any standard, this mission had not been a success. The majority of a fleet had been destroyed along with most of the troops. They were too late to save his planet due to gross miscalculation on the part of a great many people and an unimaginable number of people had perished as a consequence--not the least of which was his own mother. Their own ship had been damaged and would require an unimaginable amount of time and money to repair--if it could be repaired. What could he possibly be thinking? And her own role in the situation…how could she spell that out any more clearly? It was almost comical. "I'm not certain that my record will bear that out," she told him, willing him to hear her.

"Lieutenant," he countered. "Your talents may well have saved this ship and this crew from certain annihilation."

She needed to correct him before he continued. The conversation was not proceeding well, and she was uncertain why. Her deliberate planning and rehearsal of this meeting had failed to prepare her for what seemed to be preposterous responses by the commander. How could possibly he fail to see what was patently obvious even to someone who lacked his extraordinary analytical ability?

"No," she said, regretting her harshness, hearing the reprimand in her voice. "Not yet. And not mine. It was Kirk who first recognized…"

But he continued. "It was you who intercepted and correctly interpreted enemy correspondence. Because of you, my race may survive. It is true that many have died, both from my world and yours, but your superior performance has meant the survival of many more who would have died. It would not be reasonable to draw charges against you."

"If you imply, sir, that…" she began lamely.

"Nor would it be reasonable for you to vacate your post merely because you perceive a violation of code" he said, displaying the same fierce intensity that seemed to have unaccountably seized hold of him.

No. She needed to stop this now. "With all due respect," she said slowly, enunciating more than necessary, "it is more than a perception. It was a willful…"

He interrupted, shocking her into silence. He never interrupted. "It is important for you to know your value. You are not my subordinate. You are no longer my student. It is important for you to understand that I recognize these distinctions. We are, Lieutenant Uhura, peers."

Your value. She could feel the words reverberate around her. She felt her heart give a little jump of excitement even as her mind told her this was madness. She was reading meaning where none was intended. She had already made this mistake once; she would not make it again. She wasn't sure what he was telling her or why he was telling her this. Was he delusional? Vainly, she tried to recall if she'd ever observed him acting this way in any other situation. Her voice left her, tangled up in a little curl of fear. But she had to know. She needed to know. "Why are you telling me these things?" she whispered.

"It is appropriate for you to address me as Spock."

She didn't know how to respond to this unexpected request. And then, suddenly she did know. "Nyota," she heard herself say, sharing something she never thought she'd want to share again with anybody. Giving him permission. She didn't identify with that name anymore. For so long it had belonged to another place and another time. But now…now it belonged here, with him.

"Nyota," he addressed her. She stepped back, feeling the heat rise in her face. He'd known her name. As her instructor, of course he did. But in the training academy it was never ever used. In the codes of Starfleet that governed them both, surnames were used exclusively. Hearing her name in his voice made it made it sound beautiful and exotic. Somehow, this exchange of names seemed even more intimate than when they'd reached for each other the first time. She wondered that she could still breathe, because while she was aware of a sense of joy, with it came kind of terror, too. Such intimacy was not yet comfortable. It was too new. She wasn't certain of it.

But he was not finished with her. "I am asking you…I am asking you to take these things into consideration." He looked away from her then. She wondered if he was ashamed to say these things. She wondered what to do, not knowing anymore what was and what was not appropriate. She remembered his father. She couldn't breathe. Spock wasn't looking at her anymore. He was looking through her at something or someone else.

She wasn't ready. She panicked and fled.


	5. Hindsight

_Disclaimers: These people do not belong to me. Notes: this is turning a bit more AU than I had planned. I'm playing with the timeline again. Let me know what y'all think. _

….

In hindsight, three things should have at least heightened my suspicions.

This woman was far too attractive and far too young to notice men like me.

I was doing this because Jim had asked me to "check on her."

Judging by the fact that she was sitting by herself brooding intently, she wanted to be alone.

Three things that I should have taken into consideration. But, like any red-blooded American male in the presence of a beautiful woman, it didn't occur to me to think about any of this until later.

I'd made some discrete inquiries.

There weren't many people in the ship's bar; most of the crew actually needed to sleep on the short breaks they were allotted these days. But even if I hadn't known her by sight, I'd have been able to pick her out of the crowd. Tall, dusky, not a hair out of place. She still looked somehow cool and polished, unlike everyone else there who looked very much like they needed a shower. Peering at her from across the room, I felt a little bit uneasy about what I'd been asked to do.

She hadn't protested when I'd asked if I could join her. Instead she'd merely swept aside an impressive array of empty glassware from the table in front of her to make room and inclined her head, indicating I could take the empty seat. Then she leaned back casually, one long-fingered hand cupping a glass of amber liquid, the other balanced carefully over the back of the chair as she regarded me expectantly. Thinking back on it, her casualness was probably contrived to put me at ease. At the time, it only occurred to me that I hadn't seen someone look at me expectantly in years.

"Doctor?" she said, bringing me out of my own pathetic interior monologue. "To what do I owe the pleasure? Professional call or…?" The question hung in the air. Her face was serious, but her voice was warm and throaty. I felt a little rush of excitement, which I did my best to subdue. We were all overtired. Everyone's reactions were heightened just a little bit too much.

"Just a check-in, lieutenant." I said, wondering how in the hell I was going to handle this. Kirk had told me she was direct, and from what little I knew of her, that was an understatement. I wasn't used to being on the other side of the directness. "The captain asked me to check in with you."

"Oh," she said, lips an exact mirror of the word, "That explains it, then," as if I should understand what she was talking about. "Then in that case, I think we'll both need a drink." She quickly drained the remnants of the glass in hand, set it down and got up to get a replacement. This hardly seemed like a time for a lecture on the value of abstinence, which would have been hypocritical anyway, so instead I watched perhaps just a little too appreciatively as she wandered up to the bar to get something for both of us. She didn't seem to be impaired. I wondered vaguely if all the empty glasses were hers or if she'd been sharing.

She returned with a polite smile, and handed me a glass identical to her own. She raised her glass offering a toast. "No rest for the wicked..." Our glasses made a satisfying clink. I tried not to choke as I tossed it back in imitation of her move. When I opened my streaming eyes, she was looking at me with quiet amusement. Well, well. It seemed that before too long I'd be nursing a bruised ego if I weren't careful. I stalled by concentrating on the drink.

She'd noticed the small sensor I'd placed in the center of the table when she'd left the table and eyed it curiously. "So, this _is_ a business call. Checking my vitals?" I made a dismissive noise as I studied the small panel. "And?" Hands cupping her chin, she leaned forward to study the unit, before looking up at me, eyes wide. "Tell me doctor, will I _ever_ sleep with James T. Kirk?"

I smothered a smile even as I felt a flash of irritation. God, the man was so transparent. This was exactly the reason why I suspected he had asked me to check up on her. The lieutenant wasn't stupid. Of course she had drawn the same conclusion. I'll admit there was something in me that admired her for not falling for Jim's boyish charms. Even I had succumbed and had become one of his pawns. In the years since I'd met him, it seemed that he had a knack for becoming personally beloved by all he encountered. Women pretty much fell over each other to be with him. Uhura's attitude towards him, which until recently had tended towards eye rolling and exaggerated deference, was…refreshing. At least it appeared she also had a sense of humor about it. Still, I chose to ignore the question.

"Mmmm, actually your results seem pretty normal" I told her, sliding the small computer slightly closer to me and slightly further from her. "Temperature, normal. Respirations, normal. Heartbeat…noticed any fluttery feelings or palpitations lately?" (Speak for yourself, chump, I thought.)

I thought I detected the tiniest hitch in her breath, but when I looked up her expression hadn't changed one iota. Nor should it have. Of course she was fine. I knew Jim really wanted me to be her psychotherapist. This was another source of constant irritation—his assumption that people would jump into action no matter what he was asking them to do or how harebrained his scheme was. I was just a humble doctor, and that's all I wanted to be.

"No" she said lightly, "I'm afraid not. Not that I've been aware of, anyway. Although I confess to being a bit rattled about the general chaos we've been experiencing recently." She waved a hand in the general direction of the space around us. Quite, I thought. Certainly she was more concerned about that then the unsatisfied state of our illustrious acting captain's neglected nether regions. Come to think of it, if he'd had any sense, he should have been too.

She was watching me with a half smile. "Your diagnosis, doctor?"

"You're all hot and bothered thinking about our captain?" She really did smile this time—a real smile--recognizing that I'd recognized her joke. The alcohol made me bold. "Or perhaps it's present company you're considering?" I looked at her tentatively to see how she'd respond to that. If I hadn't been watching her so closely, I would have missed it, but she relaxed ever so slightly. I wondered if this was a good thing.

Her eyebrows arched over velvety brown eyes. "Oh, I see, you're_ that_ kind of doctor." She leaned back, arms crossed over her chest, regarding me. Her eyes were friendly, though. She was teasing me—not that I minded.

"Only on special occasions," I told her. I liked her. She was intelligent, though of course all Academy recruits were. And she wouldn't have risen to the level she was at if she wasn't. But there was something else there. Call it spunkiness. No, that sounds too little girlish. It was more like wit. It sounds cliché, but she sparkled with it. It made me feel like I was witty too. But then again, she probably made everyone feel like that.

Catching myself, I decided that it behooved me to be at least vaguely doctorly. "Could be just about anything. The drinks. Or maybe you're nervous or upset, which wouldn't be out of the realm of possibility considering that we're now…"

"Do I seem nervous or upset?" she interrupted. It wasn't rude, but her response had come just a fraction of a second too early. Her question belied more than just casual interest, though her face remained expressionless. It appeared I was on to something, even though I wasn't sure what it was. Maybe I could be a psychotherapist.

"No, no…not at all," I responded honestly. She didn't. She didn't even seem tired. Perhaps it was the exhaustion that was keeping her going. Or maybe it was the alcohol. It has that effect on some people, though God knows I'm not blessed enough to be one of them.

"Good," she said firmly. "I hope our acting captain wasn't implying that I was in some way compromised in my ability to perform." Her comment wasn't in any way disrespectful. But I noticed the way she put the slightest emphasis on the word "acting," giving me the sense that there was no love lost there, at least on the lieutenant's part.

"N-no, of course not," I said hastily, stumbling a bit. "In consideration of present circumstances he's having me do brief med checks on all the officers to ensure optimal functioning." This, of course, was a bald-faced lie. Kirk asked me specifically to check on Uhura because she seemed distracted or unusually quiet or some such. Frankly, since we were all functioning more or less on pure adrenaline rather than anything else, it didn't figure that the lieutenant should be any different. I suspected Kirk's interest in her lay elsewhere, though why he should choose to act on that now was subject to speculation.

I could tell from her face that she was unconvinced by the response. "Or as optimally as can be expected…" I added lamely. I hid my embarrassment by tossing down what remained of my drink, only to find it mysteriously replaced with a new one moments later. I accepted it with gratitude. That was one good thing about Starfleet, anyway. It was like in the early days of the navy when part of your salary was paid in rum. Some things will always make sense, I guess.

"Odd time for good customer service, don't you think?" I asked her, trying to reduce the tension that even I could feel.

"Mmmmm." She responded noncommittally, eyes never leaving mine.

Truth be told, I'd always felt more at ease with drink in hand, and this situation was proving to be no exception. The glass fit comfortably in the palm of my hand. The coolness and familiarity of it was somehow reassuring in the midst of all this unfamiliarity and turmoil.

I could tell by the look she was giving me that I wasn't off the hook. I finally conceded, holding up my hands in defeat. "Look, I'm just trying to do my job. Unfortunately my job is to carry out the captain's orders. Unfortunately that captain right now is James Kirk. Let's just say I'll give you a clean bill of health and we'll both call it a day. It doesn't make a difference to me.""

She responded to me with narrowed eyes, "Is it something I've done? What is it that he wants to know?"

"Damned if I know, lieutenant," I sighed. "Probably just something that flitted through his head today and will be gone again tomorrow. If you ask me, it seems like more than one person's gone off the deep end around here. I can't say why he targeted you. Tomorrow it will be someone else, I suspect." My voice was a bit louder than necessary. I found I was scrubbing a hand through my hair and tried to surreptitiously smooth it down again, taking another gulp to distract her from my discomposure.

"Yes," she said finally. "I've noticed that Kirk tends to be…impulsive."

"Oh, so you've noticed that, too," I responded, raising a glass in her direction. There was a resounding clink as her glass hit mine in silent acknowledgment that—at least on this point—we were on the same page.

I watched as she drained her glass then decided to hell with it, and did the same.

She set her glass down in front of her. Deliberately, precisely centered in front of her. She gave me a look of unfathomable intensity. "All right then, we have a deal, doctor."

"Should we drink to that then?" I asked, and she responded with alacrity. I was beginning to like her a lot.

….

It went on this way for some time. A fairly dry conversation about nothing, punctuated additional beverages. I felt more comfortable, now that I had abandoned the notion a therapist. Or apparently, a doctor. But even on the edges of my mind, it seemed unusual that she didn't seem to be affected by the alcohol, although maybe she was just a good drunk. Even I was beginning to feel the effects and I have a pretty high tolerance. I did notice on thing, though. Lieutenant Uhura was friendly enough and talkative enough, and seemed to have sly sense of humor I never would have guessed of her. But about herself, she seemed to be seemed to be curiously reticent.

The conversation, for the moment, had slowed. I watched her sketch a circle with a forefinger in the moisture on the table left by her glass, tracing out little spokes like the rays of a sun.

Suddenly she asked, "Have you ever wondered if you're doing the right thing, doctor?"

Momentarily jolted out of my reverie, all I could come up with was "Well, I…can you give me a context?"

"Oh, I don't know. Broken some rule. Done something you knew was wrong at the time but only regretted later." She paused, looking up at me again, waiting for me to say something.

"Of course. We all have. But if you're asking for an unbiased opinion, you're asking the wrong guy. My whole life is full of regrets."

"I don't mean something small. I mean something that mattered—more than just regrets."

Hell, this wasn't going where I wanted it too. I wasn't even quite sure where she was getting at. "On a personal level or a professional level?" I asked.

"Oh, I don't know. Either one. Just something…I don't know. Something you wanted to take back, but couldn't."

"Is something bothering you, lieutenant?" Inwardly I winced. This kind of question was the way to get someone to shut down, not ante up. I had been praising myself prematurely for my psychoanalytic abilities. She didn't seem to notice the gaff, though, expanding her circle of moisture into ever wider interconnected spirals and galaxies.

"No, I…not really, I suppose. Just thinking about things. It's all been so sudden, you know." I did know. It seemed just a scant few days ago that we'd all been sitting in classrooms as students, rehearsing hypothetical drills _ad infinitum_. And now, here we were—the only survivors in the midst of this siege or war or vendetta--I don't think it even had a label at that point.

"Does that bother you?" I asked. She looked up at me quizzically.

"No," she lengthened the vowel, as if giving herself some time to think. "No…well, yes. Actually I suppose it does."

"But you seem to be fitting in well here and to your position—better than some of us, that is."

"Oh, I don't doubt my competence, doctor, if that's what you're implying." I felt chastened. Why should she? She was probably smarter than any of the rest of this crew combined. Stranger things have happened, though. Maybe she had some kind of underlying anxiety disorder.

"It's just…well, we're here and the others…aren't."

"Luck of the draw?" I offered.

She studied her glass. Handy thing, those glasses. They made excellent props. "Maybe," she finally said. Then after a heartbeat or so she looked up at me again. "It's not survivor's guilt, if that's what you mean. That's something out of our hands. They were there, we weren't. Had we been sooner to leave the dock, the situation might very easily have been reversed."

The lieutenant was so sure of herself. I wished I could say the same about myself. As much as I tried to deny it, I had my own heaping helping of "survivor's guilt," as she called it. All I could think to add was, "Oh?"

"But let's just say, hypothetically, that…"

"Is this a story about your sister's best friend's cousin once removed?

"Something like that." She grinned at me. "So, let's just say—hypothetically of course-- that you knew about someone that conned a commanding officer into letting them switch their assignment to _Enterprise_…"

I coughed and leaned in conspiratorially. "Lieutenant Uhura, you know very well that our leaders are incorruptible."

She grinned again. "I assume you're being facetious, Dr. McCoy." Her voice dropped to a stage whisper_._ "Didn't you know that everyone is corruptible if you find out what they want?"

Surprised, I responded in my normal voice. "And so you found out this commanding officer's weakness and…"

"Not me, doctor. My sister's best friend's cousin once removed…"

"And that person got sent here instead of to one of the death ships." The words were out before I thought about them. It was too harsh. Her face had clouded. I tried to salvage my comments. "Then I would say that your sister's best friend's cousin once removed is one lucky bastard."

"But corrupting an officer is a crime…"

She was going to argue semantics? Now? "I'd say it hardly matters either way. We're Starfleet. I mean, we are _it_ now. Literally, unless some of the other ships were able to limp out of that massacre around Vulcan, which didn't appear at all likely based upon what I saw. It would be a liability to hold anyone to charges, especially for a relatively minor infraction. If there were, it would eliminate one or more of our troops, and I daresay that none of us is quite as expendable as we were a month ago. In fact," I said, leaning backwards, "I'd say we're downright hot commodities right now, especially if we come out alive." I was pleased with my own rhetoric.

"But if someone else was sent to die in place of my sister's best friend's cousin, wouldn't that be equally reprehensible?"

I studied her, trying to think about how to answer this. The answer, of course, was yes. But it was also no. "Subjective," I told her, "not to mention a mute point. We can't change events that have already occurred. And as you pointed out earlier in your argument, it's probably all one big crap shoot anyway. If that person's ship left last, then maybe we wouldn't be here." By now I was well fortified with drink. Therefore, this conversation was making me philosophical. Not to mention, a brilliant. A bit overheated maybe, but definitely brilliant. "Fate, destiny, dumb luck, God's will…whatever the reason, we're still here so it's up to us to make it work."

"Maybe," she repeated again, not sounding at all convinced. It was back to the galaxies again for the lieutenant. Maybe I was arguing the wrong thing. I wasn't sure exactly what was bothering her, after all.

"Besides," I added blithely, "people can't be corrupted unless they want to be." The response was an eyebrow cocked questioningly in my direction. At that moment the ship gave a lurch, which it had been doing on and off for hours now. The engines had been running rough since we had scored some glancing hits when we first entered the orbit around Vulcan. Even that new engineer that Kirk had somehow dug up from somewhere while on transient exile hadn't been able to solve the problem. Involuntarily I grabbed the table for support. I saw Lieutenant Uhura note my response, and forced my hands to relax. I didn't like to fly. I hadn't ever managed to shake my fear of falling out of the sky. I laughed, hoping it didn't sound too hysterical, trying to distract her with humor. "Might not matter anyway in this damaged tin can. We might not even get home."

But she did not deviate from the conversation. "So, you don't perceive this hypothetical person as having cheated?"

"It wasn't cheating," I argued. "It was taking advantage of the situation that presented itself. If you…your sister's cousin's best friend…whatever, hadn't tried to get what they wanted, they wouldn't have. If the officer were open to the suggestion—for whatever reason--I'd say fair enough. Deal's a deal. Outcome be damned. I'm lead physician not because of my skill but because my superior happened to expire soon after this mission started. Does that mean I'm going to hand my promotion over without a fight if we ever make it out of here? Hell no. I'm going to take the extra rank and the money that goes with it and consider myself lucky to have it. Do I feel bad he died? If course. Could I have stopped it? Of course not. I'm not going to waste sleep over it. There's no point."

"I see," she said, shaking her head slowly from side to side with a half smile on her face. I wasn't sure if she was amused, or just thought I was very stupid. "Very pragmatic doctor."

"We scientists pride ourselves on our pragmatism."

She took another delicate sip of her drink before addressing me.

"I see," she said again. "But isn't it odd that you're here when you so dislike space travel? That's not a very pragmatic choice." There she went with that eyebrow thing again. It was disconcerting, to say the least.

OK then. Clearly we were abandoning the discussion about the sister's cousin's best friend and moving on to Subject B. It was a barely concealed evasion. Uhura was hiding something--I just wasn't sure what. Or whom, to be more precise, since I was fairly certain that she was the hypothetical personage in question. I wondered how she'd gone about it. And who the officer was. God, had the woman slept with Captain Pike? The thought made me vaguely sick to my stomach. Randomly I considered that it was too bad she had no reason to corrupt me. I had to force myself to concentrate on _this _conversation.

"It has everything to do with pragmatism," I said. "I may _believe_ we're going to fall out of the sky at any moment. But I _know _it isn't true. It's merely logic."

"The difference being…"

"Humans are great at believing whatever they want without proof. God. The earth is flat. If I don't wear this shirt, they'll lose the game. If I pick up a penny I'll have good luck. If I just do this one thing then…" I stopped just before becoming overly confessional. This was shaky territory for me. I was letting it get too personal for some reason. "But there's no proof in any of that. There is, on the other hand, quite a lot of evidence that flying machines don't fall out of the sky unless there's extenuating circumstances. And the laws of physics tell me that nothing falls when there's no atmosphere to fall through unless it's close to a body producing some kind of gravitational pull. Therefore, space travel is relatively safe. My actions are based on what I know. Too often what I believe is irrational."

"And if you don't have any evidence?"

"Then it's my job to get it. Sometimes my beliefs turn out to be true. But sometimes they're part of an old value system that I was taught when I was a kid that just doesn't really apply. Then I can make the decision."

She fell silent then, seemingly lost in thought. Or perhaps she was admiring my skills as a debater. She lifted the glass to her mouth, and I watched as she rolled sip around her tongue before finally swallowing. "But you haven't really answered my question. Why _are_ you here?"

And onto Subject C, apparently. "Why are any of us here?" I replied. To do something new. To boldly go where no one has gone before. To get away…

"From?"

"Oh, the usual. From myself. From tedium. My wife. You name it. Earth just doesn't have anything for me any more.

"Bad marriage?"

She was grilling me now. Why not? Maybe I was ready for a little therapy of my own. Thank god I had a new drink in front of me.

"For my part, I'd say, not really. She wouldn't agree with me though." I remembered when I'd first met my future wife. She'd seemed so beautiful, so perfect. She was the girl everyone wanted. I was never really quite sure why she picked me. And after a while, she'd made it quite clear that neither was she. "She said I made everything into a joke. Even our relationship. I didn't think it was true, but she did, so in the end it didn't really matter what I thought." I swallowed.

Uhura was looking at me. Oddly, she didn't seem bored or disinterested. I was getting into this sharing thing now. "And did you?" she asked after taking long, slow sip from her glass.

I did the same, struggling to form an answer. "I don't know. I suppose. Maybe. I always thought of it as 'commentary.' In the beginning it made her laugh…"

"And after the beginning was over?"

Christ. This was getting deep. Jim hadn't warned me about this. I reminded myself to distance myself from our acting captain. The truth was that I didn't think much about my ex-wife anymore. I didn't really want to. She'd taken me for everything I had, remarried, and I'd felt like crap ever since. It didn't seem worth it to start over. With as much as she'd complained about our marriage, I'd wondered that she did either. Now I just sort of sailed through life observing the lives of everyone around me and wondering vaguely if I would have done it differently if I could have. Probably not. Who knows, maybe I really believed that schmaltzy "boldly go" mission statement.

Finally I said, "Eventually I was the only one that was laughing." I took another swig, trying to swallow the sudden lump that had formed in my throat. It always surprised me that my wife still held this much power over me, even after all this time. "I never did find out what she wanted."

"Did you ask her?" the lieutenant prompted.

"In the beginning," I said, "I begged her to talk to me. I told her I'd do anything—change whatever she wanted. I honestly don't think she knew. I wasn't a doctor then. Maybe she'd have stuck with me if I'd had more credibility." I swirled what remained in my glass before thoughtfully tipping it back. "What do we all want? Someone to make us feel loved? Someone to love? Something to do? Someone to do…" I felt pithy and daring talking like this. Or maybe this was making light of too much? I groaned inwardly. I guess my ex- had a point.

She laughed, signaling for another round. "Or, all of the above. I think you've encapsulated human nature quite well, Dr. McCoy."

"Have I?" It seemed so cynical. But really, I'm just a realist. Cynicism is just a sub-set of realism. "It all makes sense now, though I couldn't see it at the time. In the end my wife wanted a husband who didn't make jokes. I wanted a wife who laughed. We just weren't well matched. The end." I leaned back and looked at the woman across from me, waiting for the next question. I wondered if this is what it felt like to be a patient.

"And so you became a doctor?" She asked the question like she really wanted to know.

"So I did," I responded, raising yet another magically filled glass in her direction. "If I couldn't save my marriage, at least I'd save the world." I drained it in a gulp this time. It slid down smoothly, leaving a pleasant warmth in its wake. "And then I went on to save everyone but myself." I looked up to see if I could tell what she was thinking.

She regarded me for a long moment. "Doctor, she said, "I suspect you underestimate your abilities."

Beverages seemed to keep replicating on our table. Like rabbits. Apparently they were also making me introspective. "Funny, I've probably managed to save the world on some level. All those Vulcans creeping around here with their lugubrious…"

"They've lost their planet," she said, voice suddenly brittle. "They have nowhere to go."

"Yeah, well…" was all I could come up with. Stalemate. Time to sit and drink in silence.

But that little outburst made me look at her again. Really look this time. Had I been doing my job, this is what I should have been doing all along. Physically, she looked fine. Beyond that, she looked tired, but then we all were. At that point we'd been pulling 24 hour shifts with only a few hours of downtime. So that didn't seem unusual. But when I looked closer, I could tell there was something else. She was focused on me, I could see that, but she was also distracted. She looked…bruised. Not physically, maybe, but there was something about her that seemed vulnerable. If this was what Kirk meant, I was surprised it was something that he had noticed. I had the sneaking suspicion that her analysis was actually correct. Kirk probably was wondering why she stayed away from his bed. Clearly, she was too smart for him. Score another point for Lieutenant Uhura.

….

There didn't really seem to be much to say after that. We sat companionably for a few minutes. I clearly wasn't of any use to her, or to Jim. And I was also at capacity. And, unlike the lieutenant, I needed some sleep.

"Well," I said, pushing my chair back and standing up. I felt the floor wobble. She looked up at me. "I need to be getting back." I was going to just leave, when a thought struck me.

"So…will you join me?" I smiled as I stood waiting for her answer, uncertain. A little bleary and a little breathless.

The way she'd pushed her seat back and unfolded those amazing legs as she looked at me slantwise beneath raised brows seemed as damn as near an invitation as you could get. The answering smile, the laugh that came from somewhere deep inside, the way she carelessly bumped my arm as she rose--she knew what she was doing. I wasn't sure what I was doing, but then what the hell do I know about women? The fact that I'd gotten one to even look at me seemed like miracle enough right now.

She accompanied me back to my small room abutting the sick bay. The floor wobble had increased, constantly causing me to misstep. She was holding my arm, which was maybe why she didn't seem to notice the bumps. I was feeling pretty good about the way events had progressed by the time we reached my room, door sliding silently shut behind us. It was odd that we were the only ones here. With the intake of the Vulcans, private rooms were in high demand.

She did not resist as I had suspected that she would. But, she didn't exactly respond, either. Her lips parted beneath mine. Her body was compliant, but I had the sense that this was more because of what I expected than what she wanted. There was something about that kiss. It felt guarded. There was no hint of intimacy—even that anonymous intimacy that strangers can have. It made me feel like someone's overbearing Labrador, friendly but unwanted. All weight and sloppy kisses and unpleasant dog smell. I was not so far gone as to fail to realize that I was behaving an idiot. It struck me that Jim would have made a perfectly irresistible lab puppy. I, on the other hand, was just a middle-aged fool who couldn't hold his liquor.

I broke the kiss before she decided to push me away. At least my timing could be right on one thing. "It's not working is it?" I said ruefully, struggling a little to keep my voice light, non-threatening. To my chagrin, she hadn't actually stepped away, but was leaning against me, head bowed, forehead just about in line with my sternum. I felt suddenly overcome by the immediacy of what I'd just tried to do, hoping I hadn't offended her. She was better than that, even if I wasn't.

We stood together, this way—me holding her hesitantly, not really knowing what else to do, she not saying anything. It had been a long time since I'd been this physically close to a woman, largely, I'd told myself, because it didn't seem to be worth the time or the trouble. It couldn't have been more than a minute before she stepped away, but I can't say for certain. My sense of time was becoming addled. She looked up at me, but not with the weariness I would have expected.

"No," she said with an unexpectedly brilliant smile, "it's not."

I felt a wave of annoyance pulse over me—she didn't have to look so damn happy about it. But her face grew serious as studied me closely, like she was thinking about what to say. It made me uncomfortable to have someone really scrutinize me like that. I knew what was coming next. But when she finally spoke, it wasn't quite what I expected. What she said was, "It's not you, it's me," mouth curling up into an adorable twisted smile as she realized the cliché. It was all I could do to try not to kiss her again. But she had stepped away. That window, it appeared, had been firmly slammed shut.

I laughed, wanting to let her know that I wasn't offended. Hell, it was probably the nicest rejection I'd ever had. "Well that's a pleasant change. Usually for me it's the other way around."

It was her turn to laugh, but it didn't reach her eyes. She was far away again. I wondered where she was going in that head of hers. I had the sense that she had barely heard me. It was like she had turned inward. She looked puzzled, somehow. "No, really, you're sweet and I…" she tried gamely.

"I know, I know. In other circumstances I'd be the man of your dreams, but right now…"

"Something like that" she agreed. I waited for the punch line as the silence began to stretch between us. "Actually," she said, surprising me with her seriousness, "that's truer than you might think." She sighed, her shoulders making a little shrug, but she didn't look away. Even my wife had left a note when she left. It was harder this way—but maybe it was because it had been so long that I was out of practice. Lieutenant Uhura touched my arm lightly—bringing away from that first desertion. "I don't…I don't want you to think that I…" she began hesitantly.

It was my turn to look away. I wanted to look anywhere but at her. Humor I can handle. Sarcasm is comfortable. Dislike, disgust—even downright meanness--are kinds of communication I can appreciate. Honesty, though? That's thornier.

"You would have liked my roommate at the Academy, I think," she said with a smile. But her face sobered when she realized what she had said. That we had wound up here and not somewhere else made us all bound to question our own lives. It wasn't comfortable. But then, it's probably not supposed to be.

…..

I only remember being in bed, not getting there. She left the room and I could hear her rummaging around. When she came back, she had a large tumbler in one hand. I admired her ability to be able to move with such ease. And ability which I'd apparently lost all together.

"There," she said, sitting lightly in the space next to me. "Drink this." She handed me the glass. I took a sip and made a face. Water. "I prescribe three large glasses of water and these right now—before you fall asleep." She pressed some tablets into my hand.

"And," I prodded, half-hoping even now. My voice sounded pleading, even to me. I wanted to reach out for her, but she had made her boundaries clear, and even in my current state, I knew enough not to mess with her. She stood up and dimmed the lights. "I predict that you'll be in no condition to call me in the morning." I could hear the smile in her voice again. "Sleep as long as you can, doctor. You never know when you'll get another chance around here."

"Lieutenant…Uhura," I tried to stop her. "I'm sorry I couldn't help with whatever it is. If I can…

She turned to look at me. In the dimness I could just make out the glint of her teeth and brightness of her eyes. "You know, I think you have" she said softly. "Thank you, Dr. McCoy."

Whatever that meant. The door swished behind her and she vanished.

I'd like to say that I sat up and thought about what we'd talked about learning some great truths in the process. But even as I closed my eyes to counter the sense of spinning, I knew it wasn't real. As much as I liked her, I knew it wasn't really Uhura I desired. I didn't know if I'd ever really desire someone again, although I did entertain a sort of longing for a warm body and someone to listen. She'd given me that, at least for a little while. It was surprising, considering even that small intimacy wasn't something I had been consciously aware I was seeking. Maybe I'd fulfilled that in a little way for her too, even if the moment was just ephemeral.

At least hindsight always lets you know where you stand.

Because I knew that whomever she wanted, or whatever she was saving herself for, it wasn't me. I'd break the news to Jim tomorrow.


End file.
